After running water in the sink until it was warm, she splashed her face and found a hand towel in the linen closet. She wanted to look around, to satisfy her curiosity about the dark angel who was really a vampire, but there wasn’t time. And she’d left her backpack down in the foyer, not wanting to seem overly concerned about it last night and prompt him to ask unanswerable questions.
Pulling up her black leggings and then the long-sleeved turtleneck, she again lamented her wardrobe choice.
“You do look like a cat burglar,” she whispered. “Who do you think you are fooling?”
Apparently, one very sexy French-Italian vampire.
Carefully pulling open the door, she peered across the whitewashed hardwood floor over to the bed...
“Where is he?”
The bed was empty. And her flat, rubber-soled shoes designed for sneaking into locked buildings and up along windowsills sat at the foot of the bed. Had he gone looking for her? No, he must have heard her in the bathroom. Probably he’d headed down to—well, vampires didn’t do breakfast. They didn’t need to eat food.
Drinking blood was the only sustenance a vampire required for survival. Something she’d learned to relish after initially balking at the strong, meaty flavor. Quickly she’d learned to treat the taste like wine. So many appellations and flavor notes. Humans offered a cornucopia of tastes she’d never tire of experiencing.
And if all went well, soon she could claim that taste for an eternity.
She’d wanted to bite Dante last night.
He was so irresistible. Would a little bite have hurt? He’d insisted it wasn’t something she was ready for. Why, though? Too intimate? Perhaps. Kyler guessed even though Dante claimed a mastery with women, intimacy was well out of his repertoire. So she’d have to live without a taste of her dark angel. This had been a one-night stand. A satisfying reward for a job well done. A memory to keep.
And now to make her escape without some drawn-out explanation or an awkward goodbye. Damn, she wished he’d still been sleeping.
After slipping on her flats, Kyler strolled down the hallway to the stairs. At the bottom of the stairs a worn fieldstone floor stretched to the right and into the foyer. The stones were as dark as the gray-painted walls. She’d not noticed the dark decor last night. She’d had her arms and legs wrapped around Dante. And her mouth on his. And, oh...his mouth all over her skin as they’d made fantastic love to each other. He had worshipped her body.
As she veered toward the divan where she’d dropped the backpack, the shadows receded into a beam of subdued morning light. With a startled gasp, she noticed Dante sat there. With the backpack dangling from his fingers.
And it was open.
“What are you doing?” Kyler rushed over and grabbed her backpack. “You went through it? It’s—”
“Empty,” he provided plainly.
Dante stretched an arm across the back of the divan and crossed his legs casually. He wore dark slacks, and his unbuttoned white shirt revealed hard abs. That she had licked only hours earlier.
“You had the egg last night before we came here,” he said. “I took note of the weight of the backpack.” He pointed toward the front door, and she spun to see that it was open a crack. “Someone’s been here.”
Clutching the empty backpack to her chest, Kyler squeezed her eyes shut tight, then turned toward him to unleash her anger. “You liar! You did this! How did you know? Were you following me? I remember you confessed to following me. Then you had sex with me to distract—” With a heavy gasp, she managed, “You used me?”
“Kyler, sit.” He patted the tufted cushion beside him. Entirely too calm, he infuriated her. But then he could afford to express casual disinterest. He now had the upper hand. “Raging at me is not going to solve the issue of the missing egg.”
“You bastard! Of course. You should know. You took it. But how did you know I had it? You had to have been following me far longer than the few blocks near the flower shop. And then to trick me into coming here with you...you had this all planned out!”
“I performed no such trickery. You’ll recall we shared a few drinks, and then it was you who eagerly suggested we finish off the evening here.”
“After your suggestion you were open to having sex with me.”
He lifted a finger. “A suggestion you took to with amorous enthusiasm.”
“You were scheming. Hoping to get me alone so you could steal the egg from me. I can’t believe I fell for that! I wanted a night to celebrate and have wild sex—”
He grinned deliciously. “It was a bit wild, wasn’t it, Kitten?”
“Aggh! Where did you put it?”
Dante spread his arms out in dismay. “I haven’t touched it. Though I admit I slipped down here while you were in the bathroom to do just that.”
“Steal it?”
He nodded. “Truth? I’d hoped to take it into my charge after you’d done all the hard work.”
Jaw dropping open, she gaped at him.
He shrugged. “I saw you yesterday afternoon in the auction house. Casing the place. I was there doing the same. Don’t get me wrong. I am not a thief. It’s simply my quest to acquire that specific Fabergé egg.”
She lifted a brow.
“Doesn’t require explanation.” He waved it off with a flick of his fingers. “It occurred to me that you’d probably strike the night before the auction, as I had intended. And I had the notion to see if you could manage the theft and bring the prize to me. Which you did. After following you from the auction house, I positioned myself at the bar, hoping you’d walk that way. It was a series of remarkable coincidences.”
“Bullshit.” She slammed the backpack on the floor, which didn’t produce as loud of a noise as she wished. Pacing the stone tiles, she ran her fingers through her hair. “What makes you believe someone stole it? We were awake all night. We would have heard a disturbance. No. I know you’re lying. This is another scheme. Make me believe someone broke in by leaving the door open a crack, and then when I’m gone you’ve got the egg all to yourself.”
“Just stop, Kyler. Stand still.”
She swung toward him. “Why?”
“Close your eyes.”
She shook her head in irritation and shook a fist at him.
A trace of the Casanova smile tickled his mouth. “Humor me?”
Why did the man have to be so pretty? She didn’t want to punch him; she wanted to hug him. And lick him. And allow him to touch her all the ways he’d done last night.
With a huff, she slammed her hands to her hips and closed her eyes.
“Now,” he said gently. “What do you smell?”
About to reply that she smelled a bastard, she inhaled deeply, vying for a modicum of calm. She had to figure this out, a way to deal with him, to bargain perhaps and get the egg back. As soon as she got the call to hand off the prize, she had to be ready. Or bye-bye eternity.
Wrinkling her nose, she took in the scents in the foyer. First being Dante’s after-sex warmth and musk. Mercy, could she have seconds? And thirds?
Focus,